


Wait, Lupin's Not In This One?! OR: A Sword And Five Yen

by friendlytroll



Series: A Drink With Zenigata [2]
Category: Lupin III
Genre: ? Jacket Era, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Non graphic violence, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 14:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15709377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlytroll/pseuds/friendlytroll
Summary: Goemon and Zenigata share, as far as they know, only two things in common: their devotion to the man named Lupin the Third, and being men with their own senses of honor. What they weren't aware of was that they both have their times when, for once, they needs to exit their orbit from the charismatic thief...What happens if they cross paths, then, with Lupin nowhere nearby?A romantic fic that isn't so much slow burn as someone lighting the match to kindling for a slow burn, but with a fight scene.





	Wait, Lupin's Not In This One?! OR: A Sword And Five Yen

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came about through just genuinely thinking a lot for a while on Zenigata and Goemon; men with interesting parallels, who... pretty much never exchange more then a word or two one on one, if that. Now, here we are at 5k.  
> The only episode I think directly referenced is Series 2, Episode 57- "Alter-Ego Maniac". If you love Zenigata as I do and haven't seen it, I whole heartedly recommend it. There are also some light references to Goemon's origins in Series 1, but really only in some of his behavior.  
> Zenigata backstory details based on literally nothing but me thinking a lot, some light research, and seeing what plugs together until it was interesting.  
> I consider this fic to have multishipping in it's background- Lupin/Zenigata, Goemon/Lupin- generally Heist Crew or Lupins Gang shipping. But since nobody shows up BUT Zenigata and Goemon, I figured this doesn't belong in their tags. I like to call Zenigata/ everyone else simply 'Zenni Heist', by the way. One day I'll be up to running fully with the whole deck of cards. But for now, I really, really wanted to focus on Goemon, who i came to really fall in love with relatively recently.  
> I suppose number two on the unofficial 'Zenigata gets a drink with people' series, but set quite a while before when his drink with melon happens.

“Ah… I see.”

On reflection, it made sense. The act of drawing his sword did not require thought; impulse and deed had been honed his whole life until they were very nearly one and the same, balancing on the razor edge that still allowed him some sense of choice and restraint. This was such a case where he felt sure he could not have been faulted where his instincts had taken him. 

But now there was time enough to consider.

Goemon had known for years now, that he could very likely spend the rest of his life working with Lupin. This brought him a sense of confidence he was sure now he had never known before they met. However… it also sometimes tired him. For that reason, now and again he would choose to take his leave for a short time; to wander, or hone his skills. To let silence within himself again. It allowed him to feel joyful in his return- he rarely strayed far. If he sensed something, or he was called, he could pride himself in the speed of his arrival. 

That was the reason why it made sense, now he thought about it, that Inspector Zenigata might just be doing something of the same nature. 

The Inspectors scowl was more exhausted then it was angry, really. He was the person who’d somehow failed to notice a damn walking samurai novel after all. He’d been focused on the task of hand as he walked in the fading daylight, up about until he’d been shoved into a tree, blade at his throat. Blade… still at his throat. 

“Goemon… if you ‘see’, then _lower the god damn sword._ ” Zenigata growled. He slowly relaxed as the swordsman stepped away, reaching up to run his finger over the shallow slit the blade had left in his collar.

The orchard around them was painted with the soft gold of light just beginning to fade, throwing long shadows that snaked against the ground. The trees had only just begun to bud- which was what Goemon had been attracted to in the first place. The fall of a petal was one of the worlds truly unpredictable target, after all. And it would be a fine night. He sheathed his sword, frowning. 

“…truly, I do apologize.” he offered, nodding a little. Zenigata, for all his antagonism, was a man he would not feel at ease with hurting.

Zenigata scratched the back of his head, seeming to switch from his tired annoyance to the bashful, grinning gesture without any in-between. 

“Heh! Don’t. You have every reason to think I’m tailing you. It’s flattering you would draw on me anyhow.” 

Goemon inclines his head slightly. It was a confusing thing to say.

“…why would I not? We may not enter combat often, but you are a fearsome combatant.” he said simply. He had seen the Inspector take damage he was sure would have felled other men- shaking off potentially bone breaking impacts without so much as a pause in his stride. Not to mention, the strange day when Zenigata had made it _all too clear_ Goemon had been underestimating him.

“Well of course I am! But if you snapped a blade on me like that more often, this old man would get left in the dust pretty fast.” Zenigata stepped away from the shadows of the tree, tugging on the front of his jacket to settle it back in place.

“…I wonder.” 

“I don’t.”

There’s a flare of his own annoyance- Goemons thumb flicks the sheath of his sword open, the gentle _click_ audible.  
“You have gotten the better of me once before.” he hissed. There were many, many indignities he was willing to suffer. That was certainly one area of his skills that time with Lupin had truly polished. But the notion of any enemy that had stalled his blade FORGETTING was enough to make his temper threaten to flare. 

For Goemon, the memory of having a handcuff yank his sword out of his hand had, at the time, startled him more then almost anything he could remember… the look in the Inspectors eyes had been of a man _possessed._ His pride had only survived the encounter due to the fact both Jigen _and_ Lupin had so easily fallen.

“…heh. Well. If you’re going to mention it…. I suppose I did.” the Inspector smirked. Oh, that he remembered. For all it’d ended the same way as ever, THAT day was one to keep Zenigata warm at night. In a few ways.

Goemon relaxed at that, taking the smirk to mean the victory still satisfied the Inspector. He could accept that. What a terrifying man, he thought

It was very nearly enough to make him smile.

“Anyways, I don’t know for sure if you still even take side jobs, but I sure hope that’s not why you’re here.” Zenigata did know. Mostly. Not enough to make what he said a lie. And he definitely meant it when he said he hoped it wasn’t a job now; it’d have been just his luck.

“No.” Goemon said, and turned to walk away, as the conversation had clearly covered all it could need to between them. The sun’s light was still clear, and a wind would stir the trees, soon. He-  
“…’still’?” he stopped short, turning back to the detective.

“Well sure. You’re a loyal man, but also a bit of a free agent.” Lupin sure had a thing for people like that. 

“But you imply that you watch _my_ movements. Or once did.” Goemon pushed for a clarification firmly. He usually had the disadvantage in such a conversation… but the Inspector was at _least_ as bad of a liar as Goemon had ever been.

Zenigata exhaled forcefully through his nose. Damn. Well, he supposed it was fine enough. It wasn’t like this was something that Lupin could use against him on the off chance word made it back.

“Of course I have. A man would be a _fool_ to lose track of an ally as dangerous and as loyal as _you_.” he snapped, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

Goemon had to take a second, reviewing what he had just heart, less out of not understanding and more… simple surprise. It was true, of course. _Obviously_. But the Inspector had always been quite single minded. He found himself watching the detective more carefully. He was easy to read… at least in his mood. The detective was forcefully smoothing his tone back down… but there was something tense in his eyes.  
Goemon was sure the heat in his face was simply the fading sun.

“…Anyhow, feel free to enjoy yourself. It’s shaping up to be a fine evening… it’d be a shame if nobody appreciated it properly.” Zenigata gave a lazy salute and started to walk off, slipping into the trees. He padded silently through them, his gaze focused ahead for any trace of motion… before glancing back. 

Goemon stood there, looking back at him impassively; he had followed the Inspector with what Zenigata had to assume was either almost no pause, or that worryingly silent speed. 

“I found the flowers in this direction to be the most worthy of my appreciation.” Goemon offered, smiling a little as he watched Zenigata yank his hat down over his face, the inspector growling with poorly suppressed frustration. He was… beginning to see what it was Lupin saw in _this_ game. 

“I _swear_ this has nothing to do with Lupin. He’s nowhere near here.” zenigata hissed, turning to keep walking, all too aware he was losing time. Now Goemon was keeping pace with him. 

“Mm.”  
“I mean it!”

“I am aware. Then you still take ‘side jobs’, Inspector?” he asked; he knew he was right immediately by the way the Inspector’s pace increased Zenigata had a long stride when he wanted to, but it was child's play to adjust to it, not losing a single inch of distance. 

“You could call it that.” for a second, that was all Zenigata thought he had to say. 

“Not for money, hah! I’d probably be better _off_ freelancing then with Interpol for that. But from time to time I have to remind people I’m a capable officer, before they start deciding THEY or Fujiko Mine _for some damn reason_ could do my job better then I can.“ The inspector glared at nothing more then a falling leaf, stopping again to glance around again in the trees. Soon he’d be on the edge of the property he was looking for. He had to force himself to focus, taking in as many small details as he could. He paused only to turn back and glare again at the remarkably still there samurai. 

“Well? Isn’t that around where it stops being your business?”

“No. It would bring only shame to me if I allowed a man Lupin is sworn to defeat fall to a lesser foe.”

“No chance.”

“…nonetheless.”

Zenigata glared at him, but might as well have tried to intimidate one of the trees around them both. 

“Fine.”

Zenigata turned on his heel, and they walked in silence, which suited Goemon fine. He… was fairly sure that had been the most words he had ever exchanged with the Inspector. It was interesting; at times the detective would stop, continue to scour the environment, and then change directions on what seemed like nothing. A predators careful padding pace, winding them through a path that must only have existed in his senses. 

Was this what he looked like, when he _was_ hunting Lupin down? 

The tree ended not far from them now, and Zenigata pulled up his collar against the chill, carefully leaning against a tree , hiding his profile out of whatever light remained. Ahead, the manor in the distance was just visible, the lights in it’s windows. Here there was only an empty narrow grassy strip from the tree-line to the wall surrounding an elegant, over-manicured garden. This orchard bumped right against the back of the property… but there was motion. Close. 

You could have missed them. They loitered by the wall, shielding neither how clearly they were waiting for a signal, or their violent intentions.  
“…eight men.” Goemon said quietly, not tucked to the side the same way as Zenigata, but simply suppressing his presence in the force of his stillness. 

“Hmph. I thought so. They’ve been planning this raid a long time.” Zenigata itched for a smoke, but a light in the darkness was the last thing he needed then. He glanced to the side after a moment… goemon didn’t speak, but there was obviously a hanging question mark in the air.  
“The house ahead. Idiots decided to leave their teenager at home while they went off to Rio. Security’s in place, and there’s guards… but hell if any policeman worth his salt would just rely on _that._ ” he raised his chin with a defiant growl; making it clear that someone had brushed off his concerns

“A number of suspected mercenary aliases all decided to take a vacation at once… sudden uptick in fund transfers between accounts with no prior histories… and a long abandoned fruit orchard suddenly purchased. ‘Not enough for a police presence’ my god damned _hide.”_ he reached into his pocket, checking something was still there. 

Something close to the Inspectors furious, snarling tone rose faintly in Goemon as he stared out. To kidnap a child was already unbearably cowardly; but mercenaries who operated so clumsily _infuriated_ him.  
“Heh.” Goemon turned in surprise at the short, joyless laugh from the other man. What had….?

In the darkness, he could only just make out Zenigata’s eyes, shining with fury, amusement… and something unexpectedly, _cold._

“I know. Compared to *him*…. barely worth the ground they’re _standing on._ ” he growled, stepping forward, not even glancing to confirm his guess had been right. He needed to get ready. He took a deep breath and forced it out fast, repeating the process as silently as he could, opening and closing both of his hands, until he could feel the joints warm up, and the blood rushing past his ears. 

Goemon struggled slightly to keep his attention off of the moment. It had looked at first like he was trying to calm himself; the way Jigen would exhale before taking a shot, or reflexively check his gun without a glance. But no. This was something different then that.

Zenigata shifted his stance, dragging one foot to the side, settling himself solidly against the ground. His forcible breathing had sent his pulse skyrocketing, and he grit his teeth, reaching up at last to tug his hat down as he allowed all the little alarm bells run together inside of himself into a wall of internal sound until it _changed_ \- like the deathly, ringing silence after a gun went off next to your ear. 

He smiled, and if there was any truth mirth to the crooked, teeth-bearing expression, then it was a purely savage joy. he reached out one hand towards Goemon, and pointed two fingers down, sharply, towards the ground. 

“ _Stay_.” he was a rough voiced man at the best of times, but the command rolled out of him less as the normal furious growl, but a deep verbal flame. If he heard Goemons sharp, offended noise he didn’t pay it any mind, striding forward out of the tree line at a firm, deliberate walking speed. 

It took Goemon a full five seconds to realize he had actually frozen in place, and the sheer embarrassed annoyance of _that_ was very nearly enough to make him consider walking back through the orchard. But he would not meet rudeness with childishness. Instead he moved behind him silently. He wished to see just what a man who angered himself rather then calm his hands, and would be so inconceivably rude to a man he had himself identified was too dangerous to fight, would _do._ It was a familiar curiosity, which he did not care just then to spend time placing.

“Hoooy! Excuse me! Sirs? I seem to have gotten pretty lost.” Zenigata’s voice rang out clearly in the darkness, quite possibly creating nine separate heart attacks. He was still walking towards the wall, pace only slowing as soon as the terse mercenaries were moving to surround him from a slight distance. 

“Sure are, old man…” From his… left. Thug. But from the tone, the most itching to settle job nerves with a beating. From a different side someone raised a flashlight to click it on… and found only a lowered hat brim, and a smile much higher up then they were expecting. 

The only sound that broke the silence was a sharp, metallic tone like a bell being flicked… a sharp glint of silver catching in the flashlight, in the scant seconds before the group could react.  
“ _You’re under arrest_.” Zenigata moved- the coin he had flicked landing in his palm as he lunged his arm back, and whipped it around his body in an arc, putting the whole of his force into it. The flashlight the would-be kidnapper held didn’t break so much as *exploded*, throwing them into near darkness, his assailants briefly blinded. 

Huge hands shot out of the darkness, gripping the nearest mercenary by the shirt to bodily *throw* them into another, the impact sending both against the wall. Zenigata felt something move over his head in the darkness- driving his elbow up as he pivoted backwards and carrying the motion when he felt it hit something solid. Someone swore in the darkness and grabbed for him, receiving nothing more for their troubles then Zenigata’s skull slamming into theirs. 

He crouched, hand lashing out and managing to find a leg before a ringing blast of gunfire rang above his head, the sound breaking off suddenly as he PULLED and…. hadn’t… grabbed whoever had the gun. No flash of metal could be seen in the darkness as he slammed a pair of handcuffs home onto the mans arms, rising. Something bumped firmly into his back, broad and steady.

The moon was rising, pale and almost full, casting just enough light for him to see the fragments of metal on the ground that had once been guns. Behind him, back to his and sword catching the moonlight, was Goemon. And if he didn’t know better, he could have beleived his own grin was matched by a glint in the other mans eye. 

The next few minutes were a blur. The remaining three assailants had brought other weapons, and were at least experienced and cocky enough not to lose their nerve, but it might well have gone better for them if they had. Instead they charged at once in some attempt to overwhelm them. A knife and metal pipe were easily dispatched so fast they might never even recall the motion that had sliced their weapons to shreds; only the sudden emptiness of their hands, and a sudden impact that sent them to the ground. All over but for the flash of handcuffs. 

When it was done, zenigata stood, panting raggedly but evenly. His cheek had been cut or scraped at some point, but he barely felt it, especially as he watched goemon sheath his sword. He knew in the back of his head he still had adrenaline in his blood, and should step away to collect himself but…. damn, what was a man supposed to DO?

“Oy, Goemon.” he turned to him fully, shoulders still up, and feet planted wide- leaning to one side unevenly. 

“I don’t suppose you’d ever sell me a fight someday, eh, Goemon…?” he drawled, slowly straightening himself all the way out, cracking his neck to one side. 

Goemon raised an eyebrow; surprised more by the old fashioned phrase then he was the bloodlust still rolling off the man. After seeing him in the fight… he felt, rather then seeing the Inspector behave strangely… perhaps it was more like the difference between seeing a tiger in a zoo, and seeing a terrible motion in the grass.

His hand raised, moving deliberately enough to clearly be no threat, and rose to Zenigata’s cheek; his thumb carefully wiping away the beading red that had gathered. 

“…Perhaps if you ask me when you’re not already fight-drunk, Zenigata.” he said. 

Zenigata’s hand clapped firmly against his back- an impact he suspected would simply have _knocked over_ anybody else. A pleasant thought, in it’s own way. 

“Tch. You’re no fun~” he drawled, giving him a grin. Still, he could feel the energy begin to receded… and he’d need to clean up this idiot pile on the floor before he did anything else. 

Goemon didn’t respond but to shrug- it certainly was not the first time he heard a similar comment. 

It took Zenigata a good ten minutes tofinish cuffing, and pile up the would-be kidnappers; Goemon seemed to act as some kind of unspoken guard. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable; just different. He had expected he’d be who broke it. 

“Do you… always do these things alone?” Goemon asked. He seemed to have been satisfied no one else was waiting in the trees, and now simply stared into the sky, after the sight of the moon. 

Zenigata grunted, tossing the last man in a line next to the others, and beginning to neatly tie each handcuff set together in one line with a piece of rope.  
“Not always. I have my men to command… sometimes I can just get away with a command role. But now and then there’s a reason to go in myself.” zenigata had finished his task, wrapping the other end of the rope around his hand several times. The kinds of precautions you learned dealing with an escape artist. 

“Just between you and me, I actually have to call my men in now. And so long as I’m holding these bozos… well, I can’t chase anyone. But.” he trailed off, scratching his chin. The fire in him had died down, but… not completely.

“But… there’s actually a bar in town that has an actual sake collection instead of third rate swill in a fancy bottle. If for some reason I happened to come across you in a few hours…” he let the offer trail away a little. Of course, Goemon had outright said his motives were to keep him unhurt for Lupins sake. Annoying, but reasonable… 

“Perhaps you will.” Goemon took one look back at him, and then, without so much as another sound, walked away into the night. Zenigata stared, wide eyed, and burst into a rough, deep laugh without being able to help himself. Unaware that, already far into the trees, it was matched by a far softer chuckle. 

 

It took zenigata a while for his backup to finally make it. He’d have to file his report later, but he could leverage the fact he’d been denied official support to put it off for the night. The take was good enough as well; all eight had a warrant out for them somewhere or the other, barely hidden by some flimsy alibi. It was probably two hours since he’d parted ways with the swordsman, and the memory already seemed like an odd fairy tale. Something lovely, but maybe of the moment. 

The sound of someone walking besides him, as if from nowhere, made for a pleasant surprise. Zenigata smiled, pulling out his pack of smokes to tap one free. 

“I know, I know. Terrible habit.” he chuckled, even as he patted himself down for his lighter. 

“It is.” Goemon replied. He spent enough time glaring at Jigen about it. 

“Want one?”

Goemon wordlessly held out his hand. Zenigata handed him the cigarette, and then paused in their stroll to hold out the lighter for him, cupping it in his hand against the breeze. He watched, surprised at how… _pleased_ he looked. A soft, slow inhale, a little color in his cheeks… Zenigata whipped his head away quickly as soon as he was noticed, picking back up his pace. They walked in silence like that, until Zenigata idly pushed open the door of the bar. 

It wasn’t fancy like anyplace in Paris or something… but he’d found he got tired of fancy eventually. And it barely mattered if someplace was just normal damn tables and chairs if their selection was good enough. They wound up at a table by an open window you could still see the moon from, each with their own porcelain flask of their chosen sake- the presence of those, and the proper matching cups to go with them, was part of why he’d given the bar a shot in the first place. He’d chosen to have his hot after being out in the chilled air; Goemon’s as cool as the room, the variety an unfiltered milky white. Without thinking twice Zenigata reached out to pour Goemon his serving properly, sitting back as the other man returned the gesture. 

Something that simple shouldn’t be able to make Zenigata homesick; but he really had been spending too much damn time in Europe. For all he’d had colleagues over the years who he’d been pretty fond of… well. You missed the shapes things were supposed to be in. 

Goemon sipped his drink appreciatively, watching Zenigata over the rim, noting his introspection. He could have contentedly spent the time both quiet this way. But. Part of why in the end he’d followed Zenigata's invitation was the sake of his own curiosity. 

“…You are well, from earlier, yes?” he was certainly no stranger to hand to hand fighters, but… the impacts had been bone-shaking. Being used to things, he knew well, did not mean there was no injury to be found. 

“Hm? Hah! It’d take more then that to rattle me.” he set his cup down after a short swig, seeming not to notice the temperature, and demonstrably rapped his knuckles on the wall. Goemon nodded, watching his hand… there was far more light here. He could be sure now. He watched a moment longer, letting the Inspector finish his drink as he nursed his own, reaching out to refill the cup.

“…Then you also began your training as a child.” he said. 

Zenigata’s glance at him was sharp-edged. Not accusatory; sure, this COULD have somehow all been one long complicated gambit towards an end he had no possible way of seeing coming. But… it would be out of character for Goemon. Surely he had a limit to the amount of nonsense he could go through. Lupin or Fujiko he’d have already been scouring the local valuables in his head for an angle. Jigen… well. Who knew. 

As he’d done many times before with this group, he simply considered one simple question: to trust, and accept that he might be betrayed… or to throw his defenses up, and wonder forever afterwards if he hadn’t refused something sincere. He’d done it both ways countless times now. Sharp and all consumingly infuriating… or a stab of sadness for months, or even years to come. 

He picked up his now refilled cup, and let it steam in his hands, watching the faint lines through the air. 

“Just from my hands?” he asked, flicking his eyes finally back up at Goemon. Who, he noticed, seemed to have had his cup go from barely touched to mysteriously empty in the time he’d been considering his answer. 

He refilled it for him, moving with care to neatly fill the cup to the very edge, unsurprised with the surface didn’t so much as shift as Goemon lifted it. 

“No. But… they confirm it. When you first approached the men, I saw a glinting high object, and their light break silently. No gunfire was possible… then… it must simply have been that your surname is no mere distant ancestor.” Goemon drank only slightly once again, eyes trained on Zenigata. He might have been annoyed at the questioning; there was a dark storm somewhere in him, Goemon knew that much. 

Zenigata reached into his pocket, pulling out a coin like the one he’d used before. The heavy 1-Euro coin was no five yen piece, but… he flicked it up in the air, eyes distant- not catching it so much as instantly flicking it again, bouncing the disc rapidly while varying the height several times, sipping his sake as it fell into his open palm again, giving a single nod of satisfaction. 

“Not ‘zactly the same- I’m no Heiji. But I’m the first, and last, born to the Seventh generation.” he explained, turning over his hand to gently slap the coin flat against the table. 

“I was raised to be a cop. But…” he snorted slightly and stared out the window. The moon was the same as it ever was; nothing like the last he’d seen it. 

“I wasn’t a natural.”

“What?” Goemons response was sharp- but he was genuinely surprised. The conformation of what he’d suspected was… satisfying. It explained some of what he had so much trouble putting together. But. Why would that have mattered?

“Not a natural. Naturally clever, fast, quiet… not enough to make my instructor happy. Big, sure. And I always had a lot of power in me. But that’s it. Generations of expects, and it all suddenly ended with this.” he shrugged, palms up. He could feel Goemons eyes on him… but no sense of pity, or disappointment. Maybe he just couldn’t read him too well, but he’d take it. 

“I actually got better with the actual coins when I decided to leave it all behind me… heh. Ironic. It was just a weapon nobody could arrest me for having.” he chuckled and shook his head, finishing his cup, and just sitting with the warmth spreading through him. 

“When I joined the force, I did it for me. Becoming a good man, my honor, honing my skills… these things _I_ do because I choose to. Not who I was born to. I worked hard for every inch of it because there was no other way. And because I chose that, I choose to use a weapon that serves ONLY one purpose.” he tapped a pocket of his coat, producing the tell-tale metallic sound of his handcuffs.

“To bring others to justice. Guns I reserve for when I am facing down a killer.Things like THESE…” he tapped the table, making the coin clink. 

“…Mmm. Even it annoys me, only a fool lets a skill they already had rust. And as you saw, at times I need a ranged weapon. And THAT man would have had a broken hand if he’d moved the wrong way.” he said. 

That did answer one question for Goemon that had been plaguing him: why not use it against Lupin? But… in all their time being chased by the man, he’d noticed he almost never attempted to use true force. Which… seemed like it could have solved problems. His earlier, sudden offer to buy a fight had… been. Goemon paused, reflecting back on the words… and the way Zenigata looked, then and other times, fighting in the middle of a crowd. 

Where exactly had Zenigata _been_ between from when he claimed to have left home… and when he had, apparently, ‘chose to become a _good_ man’. Who had he been before? 

_If he had not always been sworn to the Law, then what would have happened if he had met Lupin the way_ **_he_ ** _had._

“Thank you for satisfying my question, Zenigata.” he said, inclining his head. He was not Lupin; he did not need to chase something the instant it caught his eye. Things worth doing were worth the time they simply took. 

He could wait. To find out just who this man he’d known for years, and years, actually was. 

Zenigata gave the slightest shrug, but felt relieved his curiosity seemed satisfied. At least he assumed so. Probably was just kinda offended he wasn’t using a weapon he coulda been, or something… geeze, good thing he didn’t really carry a _Jitte_ on him. He drank, watching confused as Goemon reached inside of his hakama, pulling out his wallet. 

He counted out a few bills, setting them down on the table between them. 

“…Eh? If these are for the drinks, it’s good sake, but not THAT good.” Zenigata wished his objection was to pridefully pay himself, but he’d meant it. Interpol paid terribly. But Goemon shook his head. 

“Consider it… a reservation.” he said. 

“A reservation for what?” Zenigata refilled Goemons drink, still confused. 

“To buy a fight.” he said, feeling… happy. 

Seeing Goemon smile, REALLY smile, might have been one of the most startling sights of Zenigata’s life. He was pretty sure his heart stopped. From _what_ he’d have… to… figure out. Or. Quietly fail to figure out for the next ten years, if the past was any indication _._ Once his pulse returned… and calmed down a little… he reached out and just… tapped the bills.

“…Too high for old goods.”

“It may be too low.” 

“Wh- gahdamn…” he glared at the table, reached out, and meaningfully scooted his own empty cup forward. It was refilled almost immediately. 

“The traditional price is five yen.” he snapped as he took his cup. Was he having… fun? Was Goemon? He was officially up too late for this. 

“It was absolutely not. Unless you mean _your_ tradition, inspector…?” aha. He was used to people who didn’t know for sure. That, too he understood. He was finding… he understood much. It had been a long time. 

Zenigata stared at him, sensing he had more or less walked into a trap. Wasn’t being outsmarted by the others enough…? He relented, reaching out and taking a single bill. 

“Every time we happen to have a drink, I’ll take one payment. ‘Nough to cover the bill. I’m tired of going out to drinks where nobody has any damn manners. Is that enough?”

“Yes.” The rest of the bills vanish; marking the acceptance of the contract. 

Admittedly, and he suspected that the Inspector knew this, there would not always be many chances to fulfill such a contract. When he was beside Lupin, he could hardly wander off to have drinks with their sworn enemy. 

But there would always be times when he wished to leave, the better he could come back again. And if he had learned one things from his time with Lupin... there was no reason not to have company, if he found it.


End file.
